


Our love has a way about it

by likingthistoomuch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post TFP, as are so many feelings, on so many different fronts, there's that phone call yet to be resolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-06 21:26:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11044650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likingthistoomuch/pseuds/likingthistoomuch
Summary: Molly meets Sherlock for the first time since that devastating phone call. Issues are getting resolved, with major patience in play.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Librarianmum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Librarianmum/gifts).



> This was read and beta'd by the lovely Emma_Lynch. I love her more daily and appreciate her patience and endurance in going through my endless ideas as well as imaginative typos. All mistakes are mine, probably because I cant wait to put this out there...its been festering in my head since Jan!!  
> Reviews would be wonderful....would really encourage me to post an epilogue.  
> Also Librarianmum...I finally kept my end of the bargain and posted my version of post-TFP!! Yaay.

“Oh Go-”, she’d gasped as soon as she’d entered her flat. Eyes closed, she took a moment to catch her breath and waited for her heartbeat to become normal. She removed her shoes and hung her coat by the door, noticing then the Belstaff already occupying space on the rack. 

Sherlock’s silhouette was backlit by the street light as he reached over and switched on the light by his side. It made his face look sharper, his eyes glinting in the dark like an animal’s on a hunt. But it also made his face look gaunt, a fact that didn’t escape her.

Entering the living room she stood facing him, her face devoid of any expression other than mild resignation at the cancellation of whatever plans she was sure she would’ve made. 

“Hungry?” she asked.

He gave a sharp nod, not able to hold her gaze. She sighed as she moved to put the kettle on, removing ingredients from the fridge before finally heading to her bedroom. She usually shut the bedroom door whenever he was in the flat, but today she didn’t bother, instead heading right to her wardrobe to grab her change of clothes and then moving out of sight, into her shower.

He had always found things to keep him occupied otherwise but today he couldn’t take his eyes off her open doorway. 

It only seemed right; after all there wasn’t much left for her to hide now.

He had sent her a text from Greg’s phone, simply apologising and promising to meet her soon. He’d deleted the text from the Sent messages but had felt Greg’s eyes on him nevertheless. John had briefly shared the gory, almost unreal details of the day with the NSY detective who’d looked more and more weary than surprised or shocked. He’d only shown mild surprise when Sherlock called him by his correct name and asked him to look after Mycroft. 

That had been almost a week ago, which brought him now to the final loose thread.

Sherlock looked up as the kettle whistled. But before he could move, Molly- already showered and changed, entered the kitchen to switch it off. She always did take the fastest showers, he thought.

She poured him a cup of tea, using rest of the water to boil pasta.  

“Drink up Sherlock,” she said softly, not looking at him as she busied herself with preparing their meal. The sauce she always made in bulk and froze, so Molly had dinner ready almost around the same time he finished his cuppa. 

Sitting facing each other on opposite sides of the counter table, they had their meal in silence with Molly surfing on her phone instead of him. Any other time he would’ve made a cutting statement but remained silent today. She seemed calm…almost  _ too _ calm, and he knew better than to trust calm waters, he’d almost drowned in the strong currents they hid in their depths.

As he cleaned up his plate, he looked up to see her watching, observing him. She spoke before he could say anything.

“I haven’t seen you look  _ this  _ washed out – and that includes when you went cold turkey after Culverton.”

He blinked. Of all the things he’d expected her to do or say, feeding him and sympathising was the last of them.

“Oh, I am not being kind or gentle; you look shit,” she continued.

“I feel it too.”

“We’re all there some time, Sherlock. Welcome to the human race.”

There wasn’t a smile on her face when she said that. Somehow he’d expected- no,  _ wanted _ to see it.

“Did I do it lot? Make you feel bad?”

She barked out a laugh that wasn’t even remotely genial. 

“Yes Sherlock,” she said firmly. “You did. Actually that’s an understatement but yes, you did.”

God, he felt tired. He just wanted to get it done with; to apologise and leave. He found her calmness disconcerting and yet somehow, in the same vein, reassuring. So he decided to plunge right in, he didn’t want to insult her further by dilly dallying anymore. She’d put up with enough of his bullshit to last multiple lifetimes.

“I am sorry. I thought that you were going to die.”

“Yeah I know,” she sighed. “I thought something was up when I was called to the hospital that night when I wasn’t even the on-call doctor.”

“Mycroft had your flat swept for bugs and IEDs as soon as we could get a message out.”

“That’s what Greg told me. He visited just as I was leaving Barts, said was up all night getting ‘stuff sorted’.”

“He’s a good man. Invaluable, in fact,” Sherlock agreed solemnly.

She smiled. “You should tell him that…he’ll like it.”

Yes, telling others what he really thought of them was right up there on his list of things to do. So  better get on with it, he thought.

But Molly beat him to it. Again.

“I’m sorry to hear about your sister. What a mess!”

He looked up at her in surprise. But then he shouldn’t be, not really. Molly had always seen things clearly, in perspective and more than frequently, nailed the problem on its head.

“That’s one way of putting it. But I see it as  _ my _ mess. Something that _ I  _ caused and have to deal with.”

She remained silent, staring at him with a slight frown. Instead of speaking further, she refilled his tea, getting a cup for herself.

“I know you make your deductions based on solid facts. But let me just tell you- you’re wrong.”

It was his turn to bark out a humourless laugh.

“Oh yes. Let us ignore the fact that Eurus murdered people just to get my attention. People send mails; she sent a grenade that almost orphaned Rosie. Let’s just ignore the long list of things I have been wrong about. It does get a bit overwhelming.”

“Sherlock-”

“I was wrong about Mycroft, I was wrong about my parents…hell, I was completely wrong about who made up my  _ family! _ I’ve been dealing with it the past few days and let me tell you, it’s the most grounding, the most humbling experience I’ve ever had.”

His outburst didn’t surprise her in the least, she could see how agitated he was. But she elected to be a mere spectator as he came to term with the events that turned his world right on its head. It wasn’t going to be easy, dealing with all that and then coming back to day-to-day life.

When he spoke next, it was in a much calmer voice. 

“But that  _ mess _ , it wasn’t isolated was it? I dragged you into it, and I am truly sorry for that.”

She had been genuinely dreading this part of the conversation. She’d had plenty of time to think about it and though it still hurt, she could now see it in the light of knowledge of what actually happened that day. 

And in a way, it was a good thing to happen. 

Her equation with Sherlock had always been lopsided, and she had convinced herself that she was ok with it. Until Mary’s death had brought lot of things into perspective- she wouldn’t live forever, the clock was ticking, the time to do things was  _ now _ . 

It was no secret that somewhere the way she felt about Sherlock held her back, even though she put up a front of professionalism and pure friendship while dealing with him. But that phone call…she had had to rip out the feelings she’d always hidden deep inside, and now she felt raw, exposed. 

She knew that had not been his intention but that didn’t change the way she felt.

“I know you are sorry. I accept you apology,” she replied quietly.

“But?”

“But what?”

“There was a silent,  _ emphatic _ ‘but’ in your words. I think we are past the stage of  _ hiding _ what we feel,” he spat out. There was that look…that emotion she had heard the first time he’d said those words. The feeling of being coerced into something he  _ absolutely _ didn’t want to do.

Well, that made the two of them.

“I never hid it, did I? You always knew…and so did all the others. But I stuck to my lane; I tried to live a normal life. I kept my distance, always did.”

She snatched his cup from front of him, and along with her own, banged them into the kitchen sink.

“And so did I.”

“Of  _ course _ you did,” she mocked, whipping around to face him again. “You  _ all _ did, as long as it was convenient. And then it was all ‘ _ Molly, can you look after Sherlock today? Oh, and we won’t ask if you are free or want to do this, since we know you love him and would do anything for him’. _ ”

He looked slightly abashed as he quietly said, “You did keep me in line, always.”

“It doesn’t matter, Sherlock,” she sounded deflated, the fight having left her. “This cannot continue. I cannot- _ will _ not do this anymore.”

“Molly, ju-.”

“I can’t,” she interrupted. “Go to John, Sherlock. Or-or go and see Rosie. Go to that  _ one _ place where you can be yourself and see that one person who loves you completely and selflessly.”

The look on his face was unreadable, as he paused before he quietly saying, “I am there already.”

She frowned. She held his gaze for a while, eventually sitting heavily at the table again.

“Shut up Sherlock,” she said in the quietest voice possible.

“I meant it, Molly,” he sounded tired. “Of course I feel utterly stupid that I had to  _ say _ it aloud to realise it.” 

She sat looking at him, distrust clear on her face. But she was also weighing his statement, judging his sincerity. Frankly he had been in the same spot so many times, especially in the past few months that he would’ve been surprised if she had taken him at face value.

“I didn’t expect this.” At his enquiring look, she continued. “I thought you would try to deflect it, try to convince me it was not true.  _ Emotions are all hogwash and they clog my brain  _ and all.”

“I would be lying if I say I hadn’t thought of that.” He glanced at her then quickly looked away. He seemed jittery now, all façade of calmness now discarded. He opened his mouth to speak and then shut it, repeating the action several times, before finally sitting back with deep sigh and shaking his head.

“This is new for me. All these feeling, emotions- I don’t know how to handle this. I just can’t, not now…not  _ yet _ .” He looked lost. His eyes were tinged with sadness and regret, but most of all fatigue.

_ Trying to reach out to and help your uber-intelligent murdering psychopath of an until- _ then _ -hidden sister would do that to anyone _ , she thought.

Molly too was struggling between giving in to her empathising nature and steeling herself against what she thought would be another free pass for his behaviour, no matter how helpless he had been. 

Eventually she did neither. 

She knew his capacity for relating things emotionally was low. And yet here he was, trying his best to understand and deal with the purely emotional reasons for the mayhem Eurus caused. Molly had always seen his vulnerabilities, even when he had been at his cockiest best. But now that it was visible to anyone that he was struggling, she just couldn’t bring herself to abandon him… not when he was most exposed.

Yes, she was terribly hurt but to be fair it was nothing compared to what  _ he _ was going through. 

Besides, hadn’t he just admitted that he wasn’t ready  _ yet?? _

“Oh this is such a mess,” she sighed, rubbing her face with hands.

Sherlock smirked, but there was no humour in his smile as he continued to stare at his hand. He did look a bit relieved at her reaction.

“How are you sleeping?”

He looked up at her with a slight frown..

“I’m staying at Mycroft’s. He needs me right now.”

“That’s very kind of you Sherlock but I asked you  _ how _ you were sleeping, not where.”

He pursed his lips and took his time answering.

“Get dreams…nightmares I should say. That’s if I do fall asleep. Last few days I think I passed out,-that would be a more appropriate description. And to think Mycroft did this all alone for such a long time …”

“Yeah well, we all do crazy things for the people we love. Your brother’s no different,” she smiled, and then quietly asked. “It must’ve been hell for your parents.”

He shrugged. It was still a sensitive topic.

“It  _ was _ hell for Mycroft. He was a mere teenager when Eurus was taken in. And yet…I can’t understand why she sought  _ me  _ to help her.”

_ Because you have a huge heart and are a wonderful human being who wants to help others, even though you would prefer to die rather than admit it. _

But she kept mum, acknowledging that all of his stupendous mental faculty was now trained at getting his familial life sorted out. Managing familial dynamics was an emotional and sensitive topic for  _ any _ person, and this was Sherlock! She couldn’t help but admire him then. She was sure a lot more happened that day than what Greg had told her but her questions could wait. 

There were other things that needed immediate attention.

“You can stay here tonight,” this made him look up immediately. “We tend to rest better in known places. And you clearly need it.”

He visibly sagged in relief, not realising how tensed he’d been until then. 

And then she added, “Not my bedroom though, I need my space.” 

She didn’t say it as a joke, her eyes weren’t twinkling, she wasn’t smiling. But that one statement made his heart fill with … _ something _ he hadn’t felt before. 

“But your guest room is an unknown place too.”

At her blank expression, he mumbled an apology.

“Don’t make jokes Sherlock. We’re not there yet.”

“But we will be.”

She folded her arms, holding herself and looking down. It was her defensive pose, he was well versed with it by now. She looked up when he got up and came around the counter, standing right beside her. She now had a guarded look on her face which changed to disbelief at his next action- he’d actually tucked an escaped tendril of hair behind her ear, his thumb gently trailing her jaw.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he said quietly, sounding a bit surprised at his own action.  

There was a softness in his eyes that she’d never seen before, which scared and thrilled her equally. This was truly Sherlock without any guards up and what she saw almost took her breath away. 

“But not yet,” he said gently shaking his head. She understood it was a request-for more time, more understanding. 

“Not yet,” she agreed.

He smiled, bent down to kiss her forehead  but lingered there. Eyes wide, she looked up as a pair of calm yet questioning eyes stared back.

She took it upon herself to find the answer, stepping onto her toes and closing the gap between their lips.

It was a chaste kiss, Sherlock’s response being immediate but guarded. She was slightly pushed off balance by his reaction, and as her hands held him instinctively, his sharp reflexes kicked in. His hands went around her waist - initially just supporting her, then holding her and finally pulling her close. As they continued kissing she felt his heart race, giving good competition to her own. But she could also feel he was a bit stressed and holding back, so gradually broke the kiss, moving a step back as but still maintaining eye contact.

Her heart skipped a beat when his eyes immediately dropped to her mouth as she licked her lips. She squashed the impulse to kiss him again, inhaling deeply instead and smiling shyly.

She ignored the feeling of pride as the tips of his ears turned red when he realised she’d seen his reaction. Blinking hard and clearing his throat (another reaction that further straightened her spine) he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Taking pity on him, she gently cupped his face with one hand, holding his hand with the other.

“I understand Sherlock. You need to sort this out first. Eurus is the priority. Besides I’m not going anywhere…unless Mike sends me to the Berlin conference but fat chance of  _ that _ happening.”

He visibly relaxed, gave a sharp nod – then after hesitating for a moment, kissed her briefly on her lips and went to the guest room.

When she woke up the next morning and saw him fast asleep next to her, she smiled and shook her head - some things still were the same.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a short epilogue but kinda ran away from me. Its more of a complete chapter now...the concluding chapter.  
> Beta read by Emma_Lynch. All mistakes are mine because I live in my own personal 'are we there yet' moment.

She was free early and decided to visit Rosie, having not seen her in some time. The moment John opened the door, she knew it had been a good decision; John looked dreadful, he had aged years in few days. Raising his finger to his lips, he gestured her wordlessly to come inside.

The house was a tip, but with one corner relatively clean; the floor here was clear of clothes and toys and the table dusted. So he either gave up on cleaning or had just started it. 

As she cleared a chair and sat, he went to the kitchen area, and begin cleaning up what looked like vomit off the floor. She followed him, the sticky mess giving her an idea of what must’ve happened. 

“Cold?” She quietly asked. 

“Horrible one. She’s a mucous factory right now. Hasn’t slept at all.” 

Leaving him in the kitchen, she stood viewing the living room and started tackling the mess. Between the both of them, the living room and the the kitchen were quickly cleared up and cleaned, also the sink was emptied and the dishwasher loaded. 

“Tea?” she asked. “While it’s still quiet and before we clear the rest?” He gratefully accepted, excusing himself to make his bed while she switched on the kettle, both hoping the child would continue resting. 

But just as they were about to have the first sip, Rosie woke up with a cry. John’s shoulders visibly sagged as he rose and went to his wailing baby; she sympathised with him but stayed at the table, knowing better than to come between a sick child and its parent. 

But the incessant crying continued, the rising pitch met with increase in John’s voice, attempting to soothe her. She heard it then, the broken, whispered begging to stop. “Hussh sweetie, I know. I know! I miss her too...so much. Please. I don’t know - Rosie. Husssh. I - just...” 

She immediately ran in and gently took Rosie from her now openly crying father. Covering his face, John just collapsed on the floor in a heap, tears streaming down his face as he curled up with Rosie’s blanket. Molly brought the child to the living room, leaving him to grieve in privacy. 

She then ran a hot shower, and sat with Rosie on the toilet seat, inhaling the steam and hoping it would provide some relief. It worked a little and as Rosie slowly hiccuped to silence, Molly brought her out to the kitchen and fed her a little. Back again to the bathroom and steam. A couple of times of this and fresh nappies, Rosie nodded off, food and open airway having done the trick. Molly then slowly put her to bed, ensuring the toddler stayed on her side. It had taken almost two hours of feeding and soothing and changing and trying her best to calm the child. It would be a mountainous task if one was also having a low episode at the same time, as John obviously was.

Said man had gathered himself by then, and had continued his clean up duties. Molly’s offer to cook dinner was accepted without any protest, and the house was blissfully silent as the adults quietly did their work. 

That was when Sherlock arrived. 

Molly had seen him intermittently since she had left him sleeping in her bed that morning. He had popped into Bart’s a few days later and she had visited Baker Street once. Both times he had been in the middle of a case and there hadn’t been much conversation. There had been a few texts, but nothing of consequence. 

He’d looked surprised to see her but one look at John and she could almost see all other thoughts flying out of his head. 

Eyes red, unshaven face and looking absolutely done in, John was a sight that would’ve worried anyone. None to indulge in small talk, the three of them sat down for a quiet dinner, their silent company soothing the grieving man. 

Molly insisted that he take a nap while she watched over a still sleeping Rosie, an offer that John  gratefully accepted. The look of forced smile on his face broke Molly’s heart. 

“He’s having one of those days,” Sherlock quietly observed as his best friend retired to his bedroom. 

“He’ll have loads of them. He will break down so that someday, maybe he can start afresh.” 

He looked at her quizzically, then nodded.

“Ah, your father.” 

She sighed. It was going to be a long and arduous journey for John. But they were all going to rally around him for that duration and beyond. 

The next two hours were spent in silence, with Molly doing some clearing up and then surfing her phone. Sherlock helped out until he received a text about some case, after which he was on his phone. 

Rosie woke up with a cry but this time she was soothed by her father, who looked tired but marginally better after that brief rest. Molly’s offer to stay back and look after Rosie was refused. 

“I got this, I- I got this. I need to do this alone.” 

It was only after John promised to call her if needed, that she finally left.

She was halfway towards the tube station when she heard her name being called, turning around to see Sherlock running towards her. She had left him deeply engrossed in his phone, with him just nodding at her when she left. 

“Take you home?” 

She pressed down on her impulsive response to refuse and instead said what she really wanted, “I’d like that.” 

The crowd was sparse at that hour but it didn’t stop people from staring at him: he was an almost celebrity, on top of being a very good looking man. He would usually get irritated at the attention but was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the journey. She assumed the case must be interesting and was glad that there was something to keep him interested and distracted from the drama in his personal life. 

They were at her door in no time, and he accepted her silent invitation to come in. As she removed her coat and shoes and moved towards the living room, she realised Sherlock was still by the door, still wearing his coat and his hand resting on the coat peg. 

“Sherlock?” 

He remained where he was, his eyes blinking but nothing passed those pursed lips. She slowly approached, not wanting to disturb his line of thought. 

Up close she saw he was breathing shallow, his grip on the peg was tight and his mouth was hard. He was tensed, trying to calm down but wasn’t being successful. Hesitantly, she lay a hand on his shoulder, at which he shut his eyes and rasped out. 

“I - I was afraid you wouldn’t say it….those were the longest seconds of my life.” 

“Sherlock.” 

“John is much stronger, Molly. If something -,” he paused as his voice cracked, and took a deep breath. “I would’ve lost everything.”

His voice quivered during those last words, making her pull him in for a hug, kissing his hair as he drew in a ragged breath. 

“I’m here, Sherlock. I’m here,” she whispered as he hugged her tightly. She took half a step back, made him look right at her and said in a quiet but strong voice. “I am here.” 

Sherlock hugged her back, holding her in an almost painful grip. Nose in her hair, he tried to take deep breaths to calm down, eventually succeeding and slowly releasing her. Gently cradling her face, he uttered a harsh “everything” before crashing his lips onto her’s. 

He kissed her thoroughly, starting slowly but turning up the heat - It was the kiss of a man who finally had what he’d coveted and couldn’t believe it. 

He backed her against the wall as he moved with surety, his lips leaving a burning trail down her neck. When she pulled his head up and kissed him back with equal enthusiasm, it was as if the last thread holding him back snapped. 

He was unhesitant in his demands and she was equally enthusiastic in her response. 

The excitement of his new discoveries was matched by the joy of her redemption. It was passionate, honest, fearless joining of two souls who had been circling each other in what had seemed like parallel orbits. But the orbits had overlapped and now there was no holding back. 

Later lying in bed wondrously spent and Molly resting her head on his chest, Sherlock slowly started narrating in detail what had happened at Sherrinford. His voice broke as he mentioned his best friend Victor Trevor, showing a better understanding towards loss and grief. He spoke about his new found admiration and increased respect for his older brother. Of his determination to keep John safe, and of the moment of realisation along with the sudden, desperate need to acknowledge what he felt for Molly. 

He then turned on his side, facing her with an honest gaze. 

“I know those words are tainted for you, but I - I love you. I love you, Molly Hooper. And you are _everything_.”

 Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked through them. She wanted to see his face, to sear it to her memory, to always remember what she saw when he said those words the first time- with all his heart, and not with a proverbial gun to his head. 

And he reminded her of it regularly, in his own special way. 

When she smelt her favourite brand of coffee one morning - he’d arrived sometime when she was asleep, brewed her favourite brew and simply left. 

When at the end of a long day, she saw him waiting for her near the Barts exit, giving her a slow, toe-curling smile as she approached him. (Sandra said she’s almost had an orgasm right there!) 

When she happily surveyed a Baker Street that was almost back to its previous glory - he’d stood near the fireplace and held his hand out, pulling her near as he ignored John and looked about his home with a proud and relieved smile. 

When he spent the whole day with her, playing his violin and recounting tales of his childhood, finally telling her in detail about Eurus and how he was communicating with her using music. 

He was letting her in, showing her his heart and holding nothing back, reminding her frequently of what he felt for her, without expecting her to say it back. It was assumed and acknowledged; words didn’t make a difference. 

She did try to make an attempt to respond but the words always got stuck. She knew it, he knew it, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Not out aloud. 

It was a few weeks later, at Baker Street, when they’d been in the middle of dinner; he‘d been making observations about the clearly new vendor of chopsticks from ‘the way the sticks tapered’ and she’d suddenly felt overwhelmed.

He was clever, kind, generous and a lovely, lovely human who put others before him. He was unique and wonderful and brilliant and gorgeous and he loved her. He loved _her_ \- and didn’t shy away from admitting it. 

She felt she would burst if she didn’t let out her feelings, if she didn’t tell him how precious he was, how dear he was to her. 

“Sherlock,” she’d interrupted his observations, a little breathless. At his quizzical look, she’d tried once. And then again. 

“I love you,” she whispered. 

He’d stared at her for a moment, then placed his chopsticks aside and kissed her thoroughly. 

She felt weightless yet tethered. Her secret was out in the air. 

She no longer felt the words were tainted, because they were about _him_. And he was all she could ever want, and then some more.

 He was _her_ everything, and she wasn’t ever going to stop telling him that.


End file.
